


making music of our own

by tiigi



Series: making music of our own [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mark is a rockstar, alternative universe, ethan is a fan, groupie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi
Summary: Mark always feels high after the shows.***Sometimes meeting your idols isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Series: making music of our own [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783612
Comments: 25
Kudos: 216





	making music of our own

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously no disrespect intended towards the real people and their real relationships, this is just for fun.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Mark always feels high after the shows. Backstage, wiping sweat from his forehead, he feels like he could do anything. The music is still deafeningly loud and it almost feels like the floor is vibrating under his feet; maybe that’s just him, shuddering with pent up energy and possibility. Neon lights slide across the ceiling as he lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, blows out. The night isn’t even close to over.

But their set is over, and if Mark drinks anymore he’ll throw up. He usually relies on his band mates to keep him upright after shows like this - filthy, crowded, screaming mosh pit shows - but they filtered out into the street a while ago. Mark should really follow them, but he doesn’t want the night to be over yet. He still feels electric.

It’s cold outside, which is a nice change in climate. It was suffocating in the club and often Mark finds himself wanting to pour his drink over his head just to get some kind of relief from the humidity. The breeze against his skin is nice, soothing. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, letting the wind ruffle his hair.

“Mark?” A small voice comes from behind him, and Mark turns slowly. It’s dark out, but the figure in front of him is illuminated under a street lamp, the orange glow casting shadows over his face.

He’s pretty, is the first thing Mark notices. The wind has tousled his hair and it curls over his forehead. Mark wants to run his fingers through it, tuck it behind the boy’s ear. He’s dressed only in jeans and a t-shirt, and to someone who hasn’t been jumping around on stage for the past forty-five minutes, it must be cold out here. He’s shivering.

“Do I know you?” Mark raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t recognise the kid, which means he’s probably a fan. Mark isn’t in the mood to talk to fans tonight, but he might be persuaded by this one.

“No, sorry,” the kid says, eyes wide and full of starstruck awe. Mark almost laughs. “I’m not– I wasn’t stalking you, I swear. I was at the show just now. You, um, you were really good.”

Mark smiles. His awkwardness is endearing somehow; Mark never usually finds insecurity attractive but there’s something devastatingly beautiful about the way he shifts from foot to foot, watching the sidewalk because he can’t bring himself to meet Mark’s eyes.

“What’s your name, kid?” Mark reaches into his pocket for another cigarette. He cups his hands around it as he fights with the lighter and resists the urge to blow smoke into the boy’s face.

“Ethan,” He says, sticking a hand out in Mark’s direction. Mark eyes it with a smile playing at his lips. After a while, Ethan let’s it fall to his side with flushed cheeks. Mark watches the way his throat bobs up and down as he swallows.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ethan,” Mark mumbles around the cigarette. “I’m Mark. You want?” He plucks it from between his lips and holds it out to Ethan with an expectant look.

“Oh,” Ethan looks from Mark to the cigarette, like he can’t quite believe it’s being offered. “I– uh, I don’t smoke, but thank you.”

Mark shrugs and takes another drag. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks. “You’re definitely not old enough to be drinking in there.” At Ethan’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, he snorts. “Relax, I’m not a narc.”

“I have a baby face,” Ethan says, and then grins weakly. “And a fake ID.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, though,” Mark points out. “You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, but you’re here. Why’s that?”

“I came to see you,” Ethan says quickly– too quickly. He winces - it flies across his face and is gone within seconds, but Mark catches it all the same. He’s trying to make himself seem cool and collected, which is painfully cute. “I’m a fan.”

“Uh huh,” Mark nods slowly. “So, what? You want a selfie or something?”

“Well… sure. If you’re offering.”

Mark flicks his cigarette away even though it’s only half smoked and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’ll do you one better,” he says. “How’d you like a burger? I haven’t eaten all night and I’m fucking starving.”

Ethan’s eyes go big again. He’s so easily surprised, easily impressed. As much as he tells himself he plays for the music, for the love of the sound, deep down he knows that he loves this too: the wide eyed fanboy stare. The people that think he’s some sort of different species, the people that want selfies with him. 

“I don’t have any money on me,” Ethan says, so quiet that Mark almost doesn’t catch it.

“I have lots.” When Ethan still doesn’t reply, Mark starts walking. He brushes past Ethan so close that they almost touch. He can smell the sweat and grime of the club on him and under that the faint smell of Ethan’s body spray. “Come on,” Mark urges, speaking over his shoulder. “You got a curfew or something?”

There’s no reply, but after a while Mark hears the slap of feet on tarmac as Ethan hurried to catch up. He grins.

***

The first food place they come across is a shitty diner that stays open late. It’s almost midnight and there’s no one else inside when they arrive, which is a good thing. Mark hates having people watch him eat– especially when they try and sneak pictures of him thinking they’re being subtle. He doubts the sixty year old woman that shuffles out from behind the counter will be clamouring for his autograph.

“What are you getting?” Mark asks as Ethan slides into the booth opposite him. He still has that expression on his face that’s a cross between confusion and disbelief, like he’s not sure what he’s doing here. Mark wants to thumb his bottom lip.

“Oh,” Ethan blinks, like he hadn’t even thought of that. “I don’t mind. Whatever’s cheapest?”

“Nah, fuck off with that.” The surprise on Ethan’s face makes Mark laugh. “Just pick something you want. I invited you, didn’t I?”

Ethan’s hands flutter in the air for a moment before he brings them down flat on the surface, trapping them. His knee bounces under the table.

“I really don’t mind,” he says in a small voice. “I’m… allergic to peanuts, but I’ll eat anything else.”

Mark watches Ethan for a moment. He seems uncomfortable, but not in the way Mark would expect. After a while he just shrugs. He doesn’t mind ordering for Ethan– he kind of likes it, actually. There’s something about it that’s so casually intimate that Mark hasn’t felt in a long time. 

When the lady approaches their table with a notebook, Mark says, “We’ll both have the cheeseburger with fries, please. Thanks.” 

Ethan looks up for the first time. “Why did you invite me?”

“Huh?”

“I mean… I’m really glad that you did, of course!” He talks like he’s worried Mark will tell him to shut up. “I just don’t get it. Why me?”

Mark rests his elbows on the table and puts his chin in his palm. How could he possibly explain this to Ethan in a way that makes sense? How could he explain that most of the time he’s just chasing one high to the next? How could he tell this kid in front of him that eating dinner with him is more interesting than going home and lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night without seeming like a total loser? There’s no way around it.

“You’re cute,” Mark says in the end, and shrugs. Ethan flushes a pretty pink colour and bites his bottom lip. Mark wants to bite it too. 

Maybe he should be worried that this will end up all over the internet tomorrow, but right now he’s more worried about going home alone. When the woman returns with two plates in her hands and places them on the table, Ethan’s smile is enough to convince him that he’s done the right thing.

“So where are you from?” Mark asks, shoving a few fries into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. Ethan doesn’t seem phased.

“Originally? Maine.”

“Why’d you move to LA?”

Ethan shrugs. “My parents moved us. There was nothing back in Maine that I wanted to stick around for, anyway.”

Mark stretches his leg out under the table as he eats. He finds Ethan’s leg easily and hooks his ankle around the boy’s calf. This would be easier without shoes on, admittedly, but it still gets the desired reaction: Ethan blushes and tries to hide a smile behind his hand. 

“How are you liking it so far then?”

“What?” Ethan blinks, embarrassed all of a sudden.

Mark snorts. “LA, kid. How do you like it here?”

“Oh!” Ethan giggles, and if that isn’t the cutest fucking thing Mark has ever heard. “It’s… warm. There are a lot of famous people just walking around on the street. That’s what surprised me most at first.”

“Yeah?” Mark inches his foot across the floor and presses down lightly over Ethan’s toes, just a little, just to let him know Mark’s there. 

“Yeah,” Ethan says softly. Mark reaches over and swipes one of his fries, and Ethan is a second too late to bat his hand away. Mark feels loose and relaxed in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time. Sitting across from Ethan is fun - more fun that trying to count sheep in his bedroom or getting high all alone.

“Do you want anything else?” Mark asks after a moment. Their plates are empty and Mark is more than ready to get out of here. 

“I’m alright,” Ethan says, smiling shyly. “Thank you, though. Really.”

“It’s no problem.” Mark stands up and offers Ethan his hand, even though he could just as easily get up without it. Ethan takes it, and Mark brushes his thumb in circles over the boy’s knuckles as he pulls him to his feet. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Mark asks, watching Ethan’s reaction carefully. There’s the blush that he expected, the shy smile again, the flicker of doubt behind his eyes, of disbelief. It’s a turn on, as much as Mark hates to admit it: the hero worship. He likes knowing that Ethan looks at him and sees someone worthwhile, someone important. 

“Where to?” Ethan asks quietly. His hand is still clasped in Mark’s. When he catches Ethan looking, Mark intertwines their fingers. 

Mark presses closer, closer, until Ethan’s ass hits the edge of the table and his quickened breathing ghosts across Mark’s face. 

In a way, he’s been dreading this question. He doesn’t know where he wants to take Ethan - he just knows he wants to take him _somewhere._ A motel feels too impersonal, too cliche, but can Mark really take this kid to his house? His actual house where he lives? Ethan doesn’t _look_ like a reporter in disguise, but that doesn’t mean he won’t post Mark’s address online for everyone to see.

Then Ethan spreads his legs, just slightly, so that Mark has more room to step between them, to get closer, and Mark thinks _fuck it._ The urge to rake his fingernails up the inside of Ethan’s bare thighs is tangible– it takes him by the throat so suddenly he can barely breathe with how turned on he is.

_Fuck it_ indeed. He wants Ethan in his bed.

“Home,” Mark says, and Ethan nods. 

***

“So this is your house,” Ethan says, mouth hanging open as he cranes his neck to look up. Mark knows he has a nice house, but right now he’s more concerned with getting to the bedroom than giving Ethan a tour. 

“Last time I checked,” Mark confirms, placing a hand on the small of Ethan’s back and leading him towards the stairs. Ethan startles at the contact, the tips of his ears going pink. “You want a drink or something?” Mark asks.

“No, I– I’m…” 

When Ethan doesn’t finish his sentence, Mark looks over, concerned. He knows how strange this must all be: going back to a stranger’s house for a hook up can be daunting enough, but if Ethan is a fan then it must be even more intimidating. Mark can feel it: the tension, palpable, Ethan’s desire to impress Mark. He wants to say that it isn’t necessary, but that would probably only embarrass him more.

“Hey,” He says, calm and cautious like Ethan is a spooked animal, ready to run any minute. “Are you okay? I can call you a cab home if you want.”

“No!” Ethan’s reply, reassuringly, is instantaneous. “No, I don’t wanna go home. I just… don’t do this very often. I don’t know how it’s supposed to work.”

Mark chuckles and slides his hand from Ethan’s back to the curve of his ass, settling there and walking him backwards until he hits the wall. Mark can feel how nervous he is in his heavy breathing, his wide eyes flitting to Mark’s lips. When Mark ducks to kiss softly at Ethan’s neck, he lets out a quiet, shaky moan and tips his head back to allow for better access. 

“What, this?” Mark’s lips brush Ethan’s skin when he talks. “You don’t do one night stands very often?”

“Um, no,” Ethan’s voice trembles. “Not often at all. This is kind of - _ah_ \- a first time for me.”

That gives Mark pause. He pulls away just enough to look Ethan in the eyes and ask, “A first time as in _your_ first time.”

“I’ve done stuff!” Ethan says defensively, and then adds on a belated, “With girls. Never… with a guy.”

“But you want to?”

“God yes,” Ethan’s eyes flutter closed for a second and Mark swears he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Please. I want to… with you.”

“Okay, easy.” Mark calms him with a hand on his chest, fingers drumming against his sternum. “Why don’t I give you some options, and you tell me what you wanna do, okay? How does that sound?”

“Sounds– sounds good.” Ethan’s voice hitches when Mark brushes a thumb over his nipple. “What– er, what are my options?”

“Well,” Mark kisses Ethan’s jaw. “We could go upstairs, and I could show you what it’s like with a guy for the first time.” As he speaks, Mark presses his other hand to Ethan’s cock through his jeans and grinds the heel of his palm down. “Or we could stay here. Right here, up against this wall.” He keeps it vague, and hopes Ethan can fill in the blanks.

Apparently he can, because he swallows nervously and his legs tremble. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, and then clears his throat. “Not to be lame, but I might faint if I try to move now.”

That gets a laugh out of Mark and he falls to his knees easily. Ethan makes a high pitched squeaking noise that Mark can’t help but find adorable, and his hands flutter in the air for a second before he grips Mark’s shoulders for support. Mark pops the button of Ethan’s jeans and drags the zip down slowly, teasingly. He can feel Ethan’s dick, hot and hard through the fabric of his underwear, when he slips his hand inside. 

“Oh my god,” Ethan says. His eyes are squeezed tight shut and every so often he’ll open them, look down like he can’t bear to miss the view of Mark on his knees. Each time, his eyes will slip shut again like he just can’t keep them open for very long.

They haven’t even kissed yet, but Mark really wants to suck Ethan’s dick. 

Ethan moans again when Mark eases his boxers down far enough to get his dick out, a breathy, gut punched sound that turns Mark on even more.

“Steady,” Mark says, and then sinks down.

He hasn’t done this in a while. Most of the time his hook ups are girls and even then they’re more likely to go down on him than he is on them, but there’s just something about Ethan that makes him want to. He brushes his lips over the head of Ethan’s cock and then licks with the flat of his tongue. 

_“Fuck,”_ Ethan groans, long and drawn out. Mark smiles, and then takes Ethan further into his mouth. He bobs his head slowly, teasingly, until Ethan’s thighs are trembling. One hand flies from Mark’s shoulder to the top of his head and his fingers bunch in Mark’s hair, tugging lightly. Mark pulls off and kisses the tip.

“I’m gonna come,” Ethan pants. He’s young, Mark reminds himself, and he hasn’t done this many times. It’s not surprising that he’s close already. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” Mark says, wrapping his hand around the base of Ethan’s cock, slick from his own mouth, and jerks him off tight and fast as he gets to his feet again. 

Kissing Ethan is incredible. He knows that Ethan can taste himself on Mark’s tongue but he doesn’t resist; he just opens his mouth and lets Mark take what he wants. Mark licks inside Ethan’s mouth and steals his breath, kisses him so hard that Ethan’s head knocks against the wall behind him from the force of it. They’re still kissing when Ethan comes over Mark’s fingers, face screwed up in pleasure, shaking from the force of his orgasm. 

“Holy shit,” Ethan whispers. He sags against the wall now, boneless and sleepy from his orgasm, and Mark holds him up with his body.

He works a hand inside his own underwear and strokes himself hard. He’s already close from Ethan’s noises and it doesn’t take much to get him off. He presses his forehead against Ethan’s chest as he comes, and then surges forward with one last burst of energy to bite at the slope of his neck where it meets his shoulder. Ethan gasps, collar pushed aside, as Mark sucks a bruise into his skin and then slumps back, exhausted.

They stay where they are in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Mark isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do now - he doesn’t usually take his one night stands to his actual home, and yet here Ethan is, living proof that Mark can’t even follow his own rules. Should he call Ethan a cab? Ask him to go? Ask him to _stay?_ He has no fucking clue.

And then Ethan giggles again and says, “Am I dreaming right now?” And all of a sudden Mark doesn’t feel so anxious anymore.

“If you were dreaming I’d probably say no anyway, right?” Mark points out. Then, “Come on. I’m ready to pass out. You can borrow pyjamas if you want.”

Ethan blinks, surprised, and pushes himself away from the wall when Mark heads for the stairs. “I’m staying?” He asks, the excitement in his voice thinly veiled. 

Mark gives a half shrug. “If you want. Or I could call you a cab. Whichever you’d prefer.”

“No!” Ethan says, overeager again. It makes Mark smile, endeared. “I’ll stay.”

“Great,” Mark says. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, doesn’t want to look bothered, but he knows Ethan is following him from the creak of the stairs. “But I’m the big spoon– always.”

Ethan snorts. “I think I can live with that,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


End file.
